


Collisions

by threeparts



Series: Heralds of Change [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Gen, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeparts/pseuds/threeparts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day Thedas where Corypheus's plan still backfires, but there's no Herald to close the rifts. Demons are roaming freely, Orlais is in chaos, and one Dalish elf just wants to get back to her clan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collisions

**Author's Note:**

> Part of an AU collaboration with a friend, there's a lot of world-building that didn't make it into this short story about Feniradel Lavellan meeting up with Clemence Trevelyan and the rest of the DA:I crew. It's an older story, but it should be fine as a stand-alone. I want to write more based on the things we've come up with (Lyrium as an alternate energy source! The templars as the paramilitary wing of a theocratic Orlais! A heist to steal another elven orb! Cass in Kevlar and a lyrium-plasma shield!), it's just a matter of finding the time. We, uh, have a lot of AUs, but this is an old favourite.

The rift had opened on the pavement in front of a medical clinic, leaving the street itself clear, and Feniradel sat a few hundred yards away, her bike's engine idling. The shifting green tear in the Veil spun gently, casting strange shadows on the front of the stores, lighting up the road as night fell and the streetlights overhead failed to flicker into life. No one wanted to leave the city by going past a rift, even if the rest of the road was free of traffic, butshe'd scouted the area on foot first—the two other streets headed in this direction were blocked with abandoned cars and other debris (the nature of which she didn't care to examine too closely) left in the street, making riding through them hazardous. Pushing her motorcycle through that mess on foot would be slow work and her hands would be occupied if someone had laid an ambush out of sight. She had learned _that_ lesson quickly on this trip: go fast or go on foot. But she'd only spotted wraiths drifting around this tear in the Veil, which meant it was probably a small one, not enough people around to make it interesting for anything more dangerous. She figured that if she put on enough speed, she could just sail by before the wispy demons had a chance to react. Shifting into gear and twisting the throttle, she put her head down as she picked up speed, intending to fly right past whatever the rift wanted to throw at her.

 

She hadn't counted on riding over the fucking oil slick of Fade goop some earlier battle had left smeared across the road, hidden until she was close enough to see the rift reflected in it, which meant it was far too late to avoid.

 

As the bike skidded beneath her and she felt it overbalance, Fen had only time to think one thing—fucking wolf's _balls_ _—_ before the front tire clipped the curb and she was sent flying. She rolled hard as she hit the ground, instinctively protecting her head from the impact, but she still felt the sting of the gravel as it tore through the hood of her sweater and her denim jeans, biting into her scalp and calf. The fall dazed her, but she hadn't been going fast enough to be a real mess, and she already knew she had bigger problems. She shook her head to clear it as she muttered a string of obscenities to block out the pain and pushed herself up onto one shaky elbow to see where she'd landed. She'd stopped rolling in front of a shuttered convenience store, its facade surprisingly intact after the looting she'd ridden past in other parts of the city. The rift was a good 50 feet away, but the whine of her engine and the screech-clatter from the skid had definitely caught the wraiths' attention. Just three of them though, not too big a problem. Her bike was lying on its side a few yards away with her rifle and backpack nearby, and she scrambled towards them, not bothering to get to her feet. She just hoped that the fall hadn't damaged the already battered old gun. Her fingers ran over it quickly in the eerie green light—no obvious damage—and she checked that the magazine was still firmly in place before slamming the bolt forward. Bracing her back against the bike, she sighted on the nearest wraith and fired. The blast tore through its delicate physical form and she grinned to herself—it hadn't exploded in her face, that was a nice bit of luck. The wraith was still floating there, the physical damage to its largely incorporeal form minimal, but the runes cut into the stock and scratched into the barrel were doing their work, and she could see the demon beginning to singe around the edges. Another blast, this time directly in its chest, and the magic caught hold. There was a thin wailing noise as small flames licked at the green wisp.

 

Fen took the chance to push herself up, grunting as her injured leg took her weight, and began to jog away from her bike. The bastards would start throwing that green fire any moment and she didn't want her ride getting caught in a blast of _that_. She took a third shot at the injured wraith as she saw the energy gathering in its burning hands, and it collapsed in on itself before it could get the spell off. The one behind it was faster, and Fen ducked behind a thick telephone pole as a bolt of energy slammed into the shop front behind her. She wiped her face on her sleeve as she felt a trickle of blood seep down her forehead. She wasn't sure how badly she'd opened her head in the fall, but she was pretty sure she was thinking clearly enough to get out of this in one piece. Cleaning herself up could wait—for now the hood of her grey sweater could soak up the worst of the blood.

 

She leant against the pole and watched the wraiths in the store window's reflection, lit by the open rift. A second blast of energy sailed past the pole before a third sizzling ball—this one from the last wraith—thudded into the pole itself. They weren't moving closer to her, not while magic pulsed in the air around them, but their aim _was_ getting better. _Shit_.

 

She leaned around the pole and took an awkward fourth shot, just clipping the closest wraith, and she swore when she realised it hadn't been a strong enough hit for the enchantment to take hold. Shooting from behind cover was a pain, you couldn't see shit and you couldn't fucking _move_. She grumbled in irritation as she ejected the magazine—it still had one cartridge left, but she wasn't going to risk reloading while running—and waited for another blast of green energy (and what _was_ that stuff, anyway? It burned like hell, but it seemed almost as incorporeal as the wraiths themselves). This ball of green fire brushed the pole as it went past at head height, and she felt the warmth of it on her cheek. _Fuckers_. She took the chance and pushed herself away from the pole and back into the street, circling across the road and around the wraiths to the same side as the rift itself. Their fire stuff was nasty, but slow—if she kept moving she could stay out of its way and take them out more easily. She wasn't worried about hitting them while on the move—she'd grown up shooting and could hit targets as big as a fucking wraith with her eyes closed. Another shot and this time the wraith immediately burst into flame, the smell of burning... Fade- _whatever_ making Fen's nose wrinkle. Its high-pitched wails echoed off the buildings around them, almost as loud as her shots, but she figured she must be the only one for miles. This part of Val Royeaux looked long-since abandoned; without any people nearby to entice the demons, it was no wonder there had only been a few weak ones floating around so aimlessly.

 

Then, as she fired a final time on the second wraith, she remembered what her bike had skidded in. If there was goop on the ground, then people _had_ been here, people had been fighting here and at least one demon had gone down... and for a slick spread across an entire lane of the street, it was a big one. Her mind suddenly racing, she glanced first at the clinic she stood beside and then half-turned back towards the other side of the street where her bike lay, and stared at the convenience store behind it. Unlooted food and medicine in a cop and templar-free part of town? One person could easily hold off a few wraiths while someone else broke in and grabbed the stuff that was still good. Fen realised with a sinking feeling that there _had_ to be something more going on here.

 

When she heard the gut-twisting laugh behind her, she realised what she'd missed. Just a few wraiths; that was the fucking joke and here was the punchline. _You really fucked yourself this time,_ she thought to herself as she fired at the third wraith, her thoughts scattered as she started moving forward at a jog. She might be running straight into one demon, but it was a practically a spirit of Love and Happiness compared to the one she _knew_ was behind her. She turned, her fingers dipping into her pocket for another magazine on reflex, and she gripped it in her teeth as she snarled at the towering demon emerging from the alleyway beside the clinic that she'd almost backed into. Fen didn't know what the big guys were called, but they were _big_ , towering over her with heavy plated bodies and powerful limbs, and they always did that nasty little chuckle before they tried to tear you into little pieces.

She took two quick shots at it, her fingers dancing over the bolt and barely bothering to aim – she could hardly miss a target that big and that close – before lurching into a sideways scuttle back across the street so she could keep both the wraith and the giant demon in sight. Slamming the third magazine into the breech and muttering a steady stream of, “Shit shit _shit_ balls and tits, dread wolf's gonna _eat_ me, fucking _fuck,_ ” Fen fired again at the wraith, which cried out as it lit up like a Summerday bonfire. She didn't bother to celebrate; the big demon was lumbering towards her and she could swear it had a _grin_ on its savage face. She shot at it, aiming for the spiky head, but even the enchanted rifle appeared to have little effect as the bullet sparked off its armoured hide. It may not have hurt it, but it _did_ seem to piss it off. It growled at her and its lumber turned into a full charge, damn near rattling the windows as it thundered towards her.

Fen tried to _think_ as she backed away—she had her back to the convenience store now, her bike still on the ground to her right. No time to get it up and started, if it was even going to start, no time to do anything but—she felt her heel hit the wall—wait, wait, _wait_ and... _dodge_. She _threw_ herself to the left of the charging creature, curling around her rifle and landing hard on her side as it slammed into the glass windows and the metal security gate over the store-front. Fen scrambled to her feet, clawing at the ground as she started running before she was even standing, and sprinted for a dozen yards before turning and firing on it as fast as she could shoot, fear not dulling her muscle memory as she shot, dragged the bolt back and slammed it home again, shot and reloaded, again and _again_. It staggered, dazed from the impact with the wall, but it... it _really_ wasn't going down. Scorch marks flared for a moment on its thick hide before dulling, and either it had a strong resistance to fire or it needed a much harder hit before the enchantment would catch hold. She glanced behind her—nothing but dark, empty road. It shook its head and turned towards her with an enraged growl and she involuntarily took a couple of steps back. She was down to her last few magazines, she had to do _something_ other than stand there and shoot the armoured bastard. Turn and run, hope she could find somewhere to hole up or squeeze through where it couldn't follow? But that would mean abandoning her bike and the few supplies she had left. If it was a choice between her bike and her life, though—

  


Her train of thought was interrupted as a bellowed, “Hey, _asshole_ ,” echoed off the buildings, and Fen briefly wondered when demons had learned to talk right before something slammed into the monster from behind. The demon stumbled and roared before turning, and Fen saw a dark silhouette against the green of the rift, almost as big as the demon, swinging wildly at it with... was that a _sledgehammer?_

It seemed to be working though, and the demon staggered back under the sudden attack. It swiped a massive fist at the figure, and it dodged the swing, and Fen realised it was fighting beside a smaller, more human shape armed with a hand axe, who took the chance to hack at the back of the demon's legs, swing after methodical swing, like it was chopping down a tree and not a nightmare from the Fade. Fen watched in shock for a moment, then shook herself and raised her rifle and began to fire again. If a couple of idiots were going to throw themselves in harm's way, the least she could do was join in. She was almost unsurprised when the street was lit up for a moment in blinding white and the noise of her rifle was drowned out by the echoing crack- _boom_ of lightning. Someone on the other side of the monster was throwing bolts of electricity at the creature, and Fen felt a shiver of relief. A _mage_ , someone who'd know how to deal with this Fade shit.

  


The demon howled at the four-part onslaught—fire and bullets from one side, the sizzle of storm magic from the other, all while two fighters circled it, hacking and pummelling its body and dodging out of the way of its blows. It staggered and went down on one knee, roaring in pain. That was apparently what the big fighter was waiting for, and it dodged behind the great beast and swung its hammer, sending blow after rocking blow down on the top of the demon's head, crushing even the thick plating. Fen stopped shooting and simply _watched_. She didn't know if demons had brains, but if they did this one's were surely leaking out of its ears. Did demons have ears? She wasn't sure about that either, but the devastating assault seemed to do the trick as the creature began to lose the shape that its consciousness provided and slowly deliquesced onto the asphalt. The two people stepped away, breathing hard, and Fen automatically raised her loaded rifle as they turned to look at her. She realised the smaller figure was a human male; bearded, solid looking. The big one was... _really_ big. And he had horns. Actual _horns_. She stared for a moment before noticing he also wore an eyepatch, and she realised both men were looking her over in return.

 

“Easy there, kid,” said the big guy as Fen looked past him and saw a third figure, this one a woman in jeans and a dark t-shirt, examining the open rift. “We're friendlies.”

“Heard that one before,” she snapped back, edging closer to the buildings. “I don't have any cash, and there's more food in that shop than I was carrying. You can have it, just don't touch my bike.”

“'Friendlies' doesn't mean looters or muggers, girl,” came the gruff voice of the second man.

“You haven't spent much time in the rest of the city, then,” said Fen, fatigue creeping into her voice. “Most places now 'friendly' is only friendly until the weapons are put away.”

“Hey, give us some credit. We could have let the demon kill you first if we wanted to take your stuff,” replied the horned guy. Fen had to admit he had a point and let the rifle drop slightly, still keeping her finger on the trigger guard.

“There we go. Clem, we got time before more assholes start coming through?”

The woman behind them—the mage, Fen reminded herself—turned, apparently startled, and replied, “Should be clear for another, uhh, hour or so. I think.”

“Sounds good,” the big guy dropped the sledgehammer to his side and wandered over to the front of the convenience store, now a mess of shattered glass, scorch marks and bent bars. The second man hefted his axe for a moment, still staring at Fen, before following him. Fen sighed with relief at their apparent indifference and headed for her bike and bag, slinging the strap of her rifle over her shoulder.

 

One of the plastic water bottles in her bag had cracked and was leaking all over the cans of food and her tool set. She growled in annoyance as she pulled it out and twisted it open, taking several gulps before pushing back the hood of her sweater and pouring the rest over her head. Waste not, want not. She wiped her wet face off on her sleeve, grimacing at the smear of blood and dirt. She didn't notice the big, horned guy approach until he asked, “So what's a kid doing out here fighting demons after dark? Thought you could get into the shop? We wrote this place off a couple days ago with the big demon wandering around.”

“Not a kid,” Fen retorted, tucking her hair back behind her long ears as she turned to him.

“My mistake,” he replied. “No offence meant.”

“I was just trying to get through, figured I could get past the wraiths, but—” She bent down, wrestling the bike upright and looking it over. “Fucked that part up, didn't I?”

“Where are you headed? We've figured out safe routes through most of this area.” He eased himself down onto the curb, but even sitting on the ground his face was almost at eye-level.

“East.” Fen groaned internally as she took in the deflated rear tire. Fixable, but a pain in the ass.

“East? Nearby east, or out-of-the-city east?”

“Just... east, all right?” Exhaustion and pain made her voice sharper than she intended, and she tried to cover it by asking, “Who are you lot, anyway? Vigilantes? This your turf?”

The eyepatch guy laughed, an unexpected rumble. “Not sure this is anyone's turf right now. We're staying nearby, we try to keep the demons around here under control. Don't usually come this far out, but Blackwall over there,” he nodded toward the human man who had hooked the head of the axe into the mangled security cage and was trying to pry it loose. “He heard the shots.”

“Oh. Well.” She shrugged her backpack over one shoulder. “Thanks. Glad I didn't have to ditch the bike to get away from that thing.”

“No problem. You want to know what's further east?”

“Demons?”

“Fuck yeah, demons. The Imperial Highway's all gone to shit too, if you were thinking of heading to Val Chevin.”

“Any word on what's further east than the highway?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Past Cumberland? Not really, there's nothing much out there until you hit Kirkwall. Thinking of heading for the woods to wait it out?”

“No, I—” Fen broke off, hesitating. Still, elves living off the beaten track wasn't exactly a big secret. “I want to get up to the Minanter.”

“Shit, that's not going to be an easy trip.” He sucked in a breath thoughtfully, then asked, “You're Dalish, right? Getting back to your clan?”

“How did you— oh, _fenedhis_.” she growled, and kicked the stand down on her bike, leaning against it with her arms crossed as she turned to look at the big guy. “Something like that. I left Ansburg a few weeks ago, wanted to know more about the Conclave. Got to the Frostbacks just in time to see the fucking explosion.”

“Shit, you were there?”

“Close enough to see demons falling out of the sky, yeah. Managed to clear out of Ferelden before they started closing the borders, but I've been on the road since. The highway's pretty bad, you're right. I had to ditch my last bike and most of my gear in Lydes—there was no way through to Verchiel except on foot. It took me three weeks to get here from Redcliffe, and that's going _around_ most towns.”

“That's some trip. I've seen footage out of Montsimmard and Verchiel, it's not pretty.”

“You're telling me.” Fen wiped a hand over her eyes, wondering if she looked as tired as she felt. “I just didn't expect the big cities to be like this. I figured there'd be, you know, templars taking care of this shit. Not fucking monsters and gangs roaming the streets.”

“You didn't hear about the templars splitting off?” The woman's voice, sounding surprised, came from behind her, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Fen's ears twitched and she glanced back as she replied, “Not until I got into Val Royeaux. What the hell are they thinking? They could actually be _useful_ for once.”

The woman gave her a small smile as she passed, and said, “I wish we knew. Still got about three-quarters of an hour before that rift is going to be a problem again, Bull.”

“Got it. Thanks, Clem.” The big guy, Bull, grunted as he climbed back to his feet and said, “Look, you've got a flat and we're holed up in a garage a couple of miles away. You can patch up your bike and we can get you some info about the trip across the Marches, what do you say?”

Fen glanced down, shifting uneasily. “Like I said, I don't have any cash.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You're just gonna help me out of the goodness of your hearts?” she stared back up at him again, her ears flattening, scepticism in her voice.

He shrugged and hefted his hammer onto his shoulder. “World's falling apart, no need to make it harder on each other than we have to. Take it or leave it though, the offer's there.”

Fen scratched her nose nervously before nodding. “Not like I can go far with a flat anyway,” she agreed.

 

As they headed back the way Fen had come earlier, walking slowly as she pushed her bike along, the small group introduced themselves: Blackwall, Clemence and 'The Iron Bull'. Fen raised an eyebrow at the last bit. “ _The_ Iron Bull?”

“Yep.”

“There are other Iron Bulls you might get confused with?”

“Nah, but it sounds better that way.” he grinned unselfconsciously at her, and Fen found her mouth twitching into a half-smile despite herself. She ducked her head, and replied, “Feniradel. No _The_ 's required.” She paused awkwardly for a moment before deciding to just _ask_ the probably-stupid question that had been on her mind since they'd met. “Er. What are you?”

He glanced sidelong at her and tilted his head, “That's not a 'what do you do for a living' question, is it?”

She shook her head, and Clem chimed in with, “He's a Qunari. You know, from Par Vollen?”

Fen stared at her blankly for a moment and asked, “Par Vollen's... north, right?”

Blackwall snorted in amusement. “You could say that.”

“Yeah, north,” agreed Bull. “I'm guessing you don't get many of us wandering into your forests.”

“Not lately, no. Do you all have horns?”

“Most of us, yeah.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment, then added, “Cool.”

He grinned at her again, then glanced up the street. “So, you should probably know before you get all trigger happy again that we're not the only ones staying at the garage.”

“All right...” said Fen. “How many people are we talking?”

“Nine of us, if no one else brought home a stray tonight.”

“There's nine of you living in a _garage?”_

“We make do.” Blackwall's voice was an annoyed growl and Fen bit back a laugh. Apparently it was a sore point.

 

The garage was as run down as the rest of the suburb, but Fen had slept in worse places over the last few weeks. It appeared dark from the outside, but there were two vans parked around the back, out of sight from the street. Blackwall led the way past them and rapped three times on the building's rear door before pulling it open, and yellow light flooded the little back alley.

The other three entered as Fen stood the bike by the back door and, giving the vans one last nervous glance, followed them inside.

 

It wasn't exactly what she'd expected. The door opened onto the floor of the garage proper, but instead of the cars and tools and... things she assumed would be inside, someone had moved their entire living room onto the concrete—no, carpeted—floor. Someone had actually laid down a big, ugly carpet across the concrete floor, before hauling in a couple of big couches and a row of tables that they'd pushed up against the back wall that were now covered in big humming boxes, brightly glowing screens, and cables. Lots and lots of cables. They mostly seemed to lead to a large generator pushed into one corner, the lyrium runes that provided the power shining brightly. The work of the mage, Fen guessed. In a second car bay mattresses and blankets littered the floor, a couple of them already occupied by sleeping figures, though it wasn't long past nine. Other people sat on the couches or were staring at the screens, and they glanced up curiously as she entered. Bags and boxes were tossed or shoved casually into corners, the personal effects of a large group of people.

 

Blackwall was tapping a couple of people—a dwarf and a blonde human man—on the shoulders and speaking to them in a low voice, and they rose and walked past Fen and out the back door. Clem disappeared through a doorway on one side of the room, near the big garage doors, as Bull announced, apparently to the room at large, “Brought back a friend. Krem, need you to look at rift conditions,” he paused and glanced at Fen, “Out _east_.”

A human man at one of the screens glanced over at her before asking, “How far east are we talking, Chief?”

“Oh, just from here to Ansburg.”

The man, Krem, muttered, “That's a lot of east,” and turned back to the screen in front of him as a woman—and Fen nearly sighed in relief as she took in the pointed ears and tattoos—leaned back from the end of the row of screens and looked at Fen in surprise. “Where'd you pick this one up?” she asked, her accent the familiar Dalish lilt.

“Trying to take down a pride demon on her own. Always said you elves were crazy,” Bull replied before disappearing through a second door near the one Clem had taken. Fen stood there awkwardly as the other elf looked her over before nodding and greeting her. “Andaran atish'an.”

Fen replied automatically with “Ma serannas na vhallash,” the words coming easily to her after weeks away from her clan.

The other elf tilted her head as Fen spoke, then asked, “You're out from the Marches, aren't you? I recognise the accent. Vimmark?”

“Minanter. The Lavellans. You're...”

“Not with a clan.” The other elf's lips twisted slightly into what could have been a smile, “My Keeper thought it would do me good to travel. The boys just call me 'Dalish' anyway.”

Fen didn't ask. Things... happened in the clans sometimes, and most of the time it was better not to find out what. She relaxed a little and replied, “Feniradel. I guess... you all knew each other before this?”

“Most of us. Blackwall and Clem are new.” Fen turned and saw Bull standing in the doorway, his bulk nearly filling it, drinking something from a can. “How's your head? You're still bleeding a bit.”

Fen reached up and ran a hand gingerly through her dark hair. It didn't hurt a whole lot, but her scalp was tacky with blood and Bull was right, it was still oozing. “I should probably clean it, if you can spare some water.”

“We can do you one better. Stitches, you got a minute?”

An older human man was already getting up off the couch as Bull spoke. “Go into the kitchen, I'll get my bag,” he said in a Fereldan accent, picking his way over to a pile of supplies.

Bull turned and ducked back through the doorway, gesturing for her to follow. “Stitches can take a look at you, fix you right up.”

 

Through the door was... a sort of kitchen. Fen was nearly sure it hadn't originally been intended as a kitchen, but a couple of small refrigerators had been hooked up inside, and the shelves and counter of what had probably been the garage's office had been cleared off to make room for crates of food, enormous jugs of water and other supplies. There was no sink, but a large tray of soapy water was set on a desk with a few plastic plates soaking in it. The wall at the front of the room wasn't, just an open counter overlooking the front entrance, where another small couch had been shoved. Clem was sitting on it, another bright screen balanced on her knees.

“Stitches is... a healer?” Fen asked uncertainly as she looked around.

“A doctor, not a mage.” Bull replied, leaning against the edge of a counter. “Damn good one, we're lucky to have him.”

“You're too kind,” replied the older human man as he came into the kitchen, a black waterproof bag in his hands. He glanced at Fen's head, then patted the counter. “Sit up there, ser, and I'll see what I can do.”

Fen unslung the rifle and backpack from over her shoulders and looked around for a moment before just leaning her gear against the wall and pushing herself up onto the counter next to them.

There was mostly silence in the kitchen after that, Bull watching as Stitches dabbed at her head with a cloth and then some stinging ointment. Fen winced a little at the acrid smell of elfroot, but after the sting came a pleasant cooling sensation, and she smiled genuinely at the human as she thanked him.

Bull, however, stopped Stitches before he could pack up his bag, and asked Fen, “What about your leg?”

She blinked at him, surprised. “How did you...?”

“You've been limping a bit. When you came off the bike, right?”

She stared at him for a moment before slowly nodding, and rolled up the leg of her jeans to reveal her scraped up calf. It wasn't still bleeding like her head had been, but the fall had torn off layers of skin and dark bruises were already forming. Stitches hemmed at it for a moment before setting to work with more antiseptic, and Bull asked, “Have you eaten recently?”

Fen thought he was talking to the doctor until she glanced up and met his eye. “Uh. I had some tinned spaghetti this morning,” she replied.

“That's all?”

“I've been on the move all day, didn't really get a chance to stop.”

Bull shook his head and turned to one of the crates, pulling out a crackling red bag and offering it to her. Fen hesitated and said, “It's fine, really, I've got more tins in my bag.”

“More spaghetti?” The Qunari raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well. Some beans, too.”

He snorted. “Take it. We've already eaten, but we can make you a sandwich or something once the doc gives us back the table.”

“You really don't have to.”

“ _Take it_ ,” he said, thrusting the bag at her. “Blackwall's taking a couple of the boys back to the shop you and that demon cracked open for us. We're gonna have more food than we can eat soon.”

Fen couldn't deny how hungry she was, so she accepted the bag with a muttered “Ser'as,” and tore it open. The curled orange shapes inside were unfamiliar to her, and she sniffed at one curiously before nibbling at it, her ears twitching forward in interest. The taste was... hard to describe. She rolled it around in her mouth for a moment, frowning, unsure of what to make of the dry, tangy morsel. She took a second small bite.

She wasn't aware that she'd been concentrating on the new food until another rumble of laughter from Bull made her glance up. He was leaning back on the counter, _laughing_ at her. “Haven't you ever had corn chips before?” he asked, and she bristled. Before she could snap back a reply, Dalish stuck her head around the door.

“Fresh out of the forest, Chief. She's probably never _heard_ of corn chips before.” She winked at Fen. “Wait til you try your first soda.” She snatched an apple off the top of a box of fruit under the counter by the door, and crunched into it. “Now, this,” she said, waving the fruit in the air, her mouth full, “is _much_ easier than waiting half a year for the right season.”

“It's winter, you wouldn't _have_ to wait,” muttered Fen as the other elf ducked back out into the garage, still feeling a little self-conscious.

“Wait, you've never had soda?” asked Bull, apparently delighted. “Oh, this I _have_ to see.”

“ _Before_ the boss kills you with an overload of sugar,” said Stitches, releasing her leg, “are there any other scrapes I should look at? It might be a while before you see another healer, I'm afraid.”

“Um. A wraith got a hit in a couple of days ago,” said Fen. “I've just been rubbing elfroot on it and it seems to be okay, but I was going to get the Keeper to check it when I got home. If you're offering, though...”

“It's what I'm paid for.”

Fen set the bag of chips down and lifted her sweater over her head, carefully avoiding the cut on her scalp. Underneath she wore a light summer dress instead of a shirt, sleeveless with a flower print on white cotton, now stained and torn from the hem to what the over-sized sweater had covered. Her left bicep had a makeshift bandage tied around it, and she struggled one-handed with the knot before Stitches waved her hand away and simply snipped it off with scissors.

Underneath was an angry red burn about the size of her fist, blistered and oozing serum. Stitches winced as he looked at it, then asked, “You were shooting a rifle like this?”

“And riding a motorcycle,” added Bull, looking at the injury with interest.

“I'm right-handed, and the elfroot helped a lot.” Fen shrugged, unconcerned. “I figured it would be fine if I kept it clean.”

Stitches tutted at her as he set to work, and Fen popped another chip in her mouth, becoming used to the sharp taste. “Are you actually their boss?” she asked Bull as she chewed.

He nodded. “We do private security, physical and electronic.”

“You guard people and... computer-y things?” she asked, gesturing vaguely with her right hand.

“Pretty much. Network security, penetration testing, vulnerability assessments...” he caught Fen's eye. “You haven't got the faintest idea what I'm talking about, do you?”

“Not a clue,” she said, shaking her head with a lopsided smile.

“No soda I kinda get, but no computers out in the woods, either?”

“No electricity, most of the time.”

He stared at her. “Wait, really? I thought Dalish was shitting me. No computers, no television, no... what? Cell phones? Do you have landlines? Have you even used a telephone before?”

Fen looked surprised as she replied, “Oh no, that's _strictly_ forbidden. Some clans have started to use shortwave radio, but I'm pretty sure that's wolf bait and it's going to turn them into abominations. I'll have to do penance when I get home for spending this much time in a room with electrical lights and eating food I didn't grow myself.” She looked at him with wide eyes, radiating an earnestness that was slightly ruined by Stitches snorting under his breath as he began to wrap a clean bandage around her arm.

Bull's eyebrows had risen as she spoke, but then shook his head with a chuckle. “So you _do_ have a sense of humour after all.”

Fen wrinkled her nose at him. “I do. We don't have landlines though, or I would've just called home.”

“Uh, Chief?” Krem stuck his head in the kitchen, looking worried. “Got a minute?”

“Yep,” replied Bull, pushing away from the counter. “Don't go anywhere,” he said to Fen as he squeezed past Stitches. “I want to get the soda thing on camera.”

 

Fen and the doctor made small talk as he finished wrapping her arm and, against her protests, gave her a tube of antiseptic ointment he sternly told her to treat it with. He reminded her of the hahren back home, always concerned with the Clan's welfare, and she was cowed into obedience. Just as she was slipping down off the table, Bull walked to the doorway, frowning. “Feniradel, you said you were from the Lavellan clan?” She nodded, and he said, “Then you need to see this.” He gestured out into the car bay and walked away. Fen and the doctor exchanged glances, then followed after him.

 

The Ansburg reporter droned on, detailing Marcher leader Sebastian Vael's response to the Demonic Crisis, as the news station had apparently dubbed it. They stood by a roadside out of the city, a military base across the road a hive of activity. Fen glanced at Krem, who had leaned away from his computer screen so they could watch the three-day-old local news clip, and wondered why she was being shown the video. A moment later Krem said, “Right, just here...” and she looked back at the screen. As the reporter was apparently drawing to the end of the story, she paused in confusion and the camera zoomed out, and turned down the road. There was some incoherent shouts about getting it on film, and then a green-painted van rumbled past where the camera had been set up, followed by a couple of motorbikes. Whoever was holding the filming gear took a few steps back and turned to look down the road, and an entire convoy came into sight. Vans, sedans, pick-up trucks and half a dozen motorbikes of various types, all painted in green and yellow, some with banners or streamers in the same colours flying out the back were cruising down the road past the base and the film crew. The vehicles were all in varying states of disrepair—some missing side mirrors or back windows—and drove all over the road, paying no attention to the lane dividers and pressing close enough to be a serious danger if any one of them braked suddenly. Every single vehicle was being driven by an elf with a tattooed face. The drivers glanced at the reporter as they passed with disinterest, though some of the children piled into the back of the cars waved or made faces. Another shout from one of the people recording and a huge truck rolled by, the kind used to transport livestock. On the bottom level goats, sheep and halla poked their heads out into the wind, while up top, more elves—mostly children or teenagers—sat on boxes and crates that had been packed in tightly. The truck flew a huge green banner painted with an angular yellow design that snapped and rolled in the slipstream, and streamers of fabric were tied to the metal bars. It passed by with a roar, and was soon followed by more of the smaller cars and bikes.

“That was _our_ aravel,” said Fen breathlessly. “I saw my _brother_. But there's not going to be another Arlathvhen for _years_ , what are they doing?”

Krem shook his head, “I checked a few other news sites, but they're the only Dalish who seem to be moving in the open. A couple of Tirashan clans have abandoned their compounds, but haven't been spotted on the roads. And...” he trailed off as he typed rapidly on the keyboard and a new window opened. “I think this is why.”

Another video, this one taken from a helicopter or some sort of drone, the timestamp five days past. There was no sound, just eerie pictures of the edge of a vast forest.

“That's the Tirashan,” Dalish said immediately. “Just north of the Plateau.”

The recording flew silently over the forest, slowing as it came to a break in the trees a mile or so in. It drifted until it was almost directly overhead before tilting a little and showing the open ground below. There was a large field at one end with something green growing in neatly tilled lines, while at the other was a little shanty-town with a billowing red canopy that had come loose at one corner and was flapping in the breeze. A blue sedan was parked near the vhenadahl, the driver's door open, but there was no one inside.

Near the edge of the village, tucked neatly between a barn and what may have been a house, was an open rift. The green light pulsed and rippled, reflecting off the buildings, and a few dark shapes slid aimlessly through the deserted village. Doors to the buildings had been left open, and some of the demons drifted into buildings, apparently heedless of the camera hovering over them. Fen realised with a start that a few of the moving shapes were elves, but their movements were jerky and uncoordinated. Bile rose in her throat as she realised what she was seeing, and she turned away.

“That was the Ranethiall compound,”murmured Dalish. “I know the banner. Fenedhis.”

Bull, who had been standing with his arms crossed behind Krem, leaned forward and tapped the screen. “These are pens, right? For animals?”

“Yes,” said Dalish. “Halla and goats, mostly.”

“They're empty, no sign of the animals anywhere else in the town. And no cars besides that one beneath the tree.”

Fen frowned, and looked back at the screen. The Qunari was right, Dalish compounds were usually home to a dozen or more vehicles parked haphazardly by houses and near the edge of the village, only half of which worked at any given time. And the animals were gone. “They had time to pack up and leave?” she asked, surprised.

“Not without a fight, going by the abominations,” said Bull. “But there are only a few of those, and that town could hold, what? Forty people?”

“At least,” said Dalish. “They're one of the bigger clans.”

“We don't know where they went, though,” said Krem, turning to look a the people behind him. “All the hits for Dalish convoys from that part of the world are years old. Either no one saw them leave, or they haven't come out of the forest.”

Dalish nodded, “No, that makes sense. The Tirashan is probably safer than going near human towns right now.” She paused, thoughtfully, and added, “If you stay near the edges, at least.”

Fen smiled slightly. Calling the Tirashan safe was a stretch at the best of times, but she knew Dalish had a point. She looked at Krem and asked, “But what about my clan? Did the same thing happen to them, is that why they're moving?”

Krem shook his head. “I checked; if anyone has gone out to check their camp, they haven't put it online.”

“It's a good bet, though,” said Bull. “Elves usually go for big forests, right? I don't remember any near Ansburg.”

Nodding, Fen said, “Yeah, we were up in the hills. It's the best cover around there. If a rift opened nearby, there's nowhere to really retreat to.”

Bull looked down at her and asked, “Where would they have gone to if they needed to find a new site?”

“Honestly?” asked Fen, “I haven't got the faintest fucking idea.” She ran a hand through her hair, then winced as she accidentally brushed the cut on her scalp. “The Minanter Valley is full of people, there aren't many good places left to camp. They could have gone up to the Weyrs, or tried to make for the ocean, but those are just guesses. Not west, not with the shit between Starkhaven and Kirkwall.”

“Uhh, that's the other thing I wanted to mention,” broke in Krem. “If you even knew where your clan is, getting through to Ansburg right now's going to be difficult.”

“Starkhaven's actually mobilising?” asked Bull. “It's been years, you'd think Vael would be more worried about the rifts.”

“He seems to think the rifts are the mages' fault,” shrugged Krem. “I don't know what he thinks he's going to achieve by moving on Kirkwall, but all the info coming in says cutting between those two cities right now is a bad idea.” He looked over to Fen. “You'd either want to go by boat around to Antiva and head inland from there, or go up and cut through Tevinter, but neither way is going to be safe or quick.”

Fen shook her head. “The Tevinter border is a tough one to cross, and going by boat means having cash and ID. I have to go through the Marches.”

Bull sighed and leaned against the back of Krem's chair, which creaked ominously. “Hate to say it, but even if you made it across the Marches before it turns into a battlefield and got to Ansburg without getting taken out by a demon, you could spend weeks wandering up and down Antiva and the Marches looking for your clan.”

“I know, but it's not like I have a choice,” replied Fen, her ears drooping. “I've been on the road for a couple of months already, a few more won't kill me.”

Bull looked at her in silence for a few moments, then turned to Krem and said, “Set up some alerts for any info on Dalish clans moving around to the east. News sites, videos, blogs, the lot.” He stepped away from the desk and turned to Fen. “I know you want to get home, but this way will be faster than searching by yourself. If anyone sees them and posts about it online, my boys will find it, all right? All you have to do is sit tight and wait for word.”

“You can do that?” she asked dully, as Krem began to type and Dalish moved away to her own computer. “Are you sure? We don't tell people where we're going, and they'll stay out of towns and off the big roads.”

“Hey,” he said. “Trust me. It might take a while, but we'll find them.”

Fen squeezed her eyes shut for a minute, feeling the bone-deep ache of exhaustion, then nodded. “I guess.” She wrapped her arms around herself and forced a small smile. “It's stupid. I left because I was asked to bring news back. Now I've got the news and there's nobody around to tell it to, probably because they figured it out on their own.”

“At least they did figure it out, right? And you know your clan is doing okay.” He looked over to where the mattresses were laid out across the garage. “Look, crash here while we find them, all right? I know it's not ideal, but there's food and light and you'll have other people to watch your back.”

She sighed and slowly nodded, before asking, “You don't even know me, why are you offering all this?”

He shrugged one massive shoulder. “Hey, someone who tries to kill a pride demon with a fucking antique rifle is someone I want on my side in a fight. And,” he said, suddenly smiling. “The soda thing. I _really_ want to see the soda thing.”

 


End file.
